


404

by antineutrinos



Series: 1 in 24 [1]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Gen, Pining, Teenage AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 21:27:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11952969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antineutrinos/pseuds/antineutrinos
Summary: Trott is an itch Smith just can't scratch.(teenage au)





	404

**Author's Note:**

> hi I meant to post a vampire!smith fic but of course instead I convinced myself no one would like it so I didn't finish writing it lol. anyway I wrote this at 2am last night I was really tired and couldn't sleep so don't expect too much lol I hope you enjoy x
> 
> (tomorrow I start school please comment or talk to me because I'm nervous as fuck and would like something nice to wake up to thank you)

Really, Smith didn't expect it to be _this_ bad.

God- it must be what- four in the morning? He's on the floor of Trott's bedroom on a massive blow up mattress. Trott is next to him- beds are lame when you have an air mattress and your best friend. It's dark, apart from the line of light coming from the bottom of the door. Smith can only see the bare shadow of Trott's face, a light grey blur in an inky black background.

There are karate awards hung on the walls, sitting proudly next to the Pokemon and WWE posters. The walls are bright green. There's a desk in the corner, loaded with old homework. In the other corner there's a bookcase packed full with books- everything and anything. Smith can't see it, but he knows it's there. He knows Trott's room, every inch of it. He's spent countless days inside these four walls. A home from home.

The house is silent. Trott's parents are asleep in the next room. Everything is quiet- apart from their own slow breaths and the occasional creak of the house. Trott is half asleep next to him, eyelids shut. Smith knew he wasn't properly asleep, though. Just dozing.

They're facing each other, lying on their sides. Smith loves the way Trott's eyelashes fell across his cheek.

Smith knew there was something, somewhere- he knew he wasn't supposed to look at his friend this way. There were times, in class, when Trott turned round to ask him for a pencil that Smith was hit with a pang of _something_ ; an appreciation for his best friend? Something more ferocious- passion? Maybe somewhere, there was shame, guilt, regret- but how can Smith think of that when Chris Trott is looking so full of mischief, so gleeful? What can Smith do, but hand him a pencil, mumble _you're_ _welcome_ and wonder, if everything was different, could there be a chance?

"Go to sleep," Trott murmurs eventually. He opens his eyes, rubs his left one. His voice is soft, gritty with tiredness. The quiet that envelopes them encourages them to be quiet, too.

Smith can smell the off-brand shampoo Trott uses, the one his mum gets cheap in the supermarket. It smells like chemicals, but it smells good. He shuts his eyes. "Not tired." He opens them again.

Trott didn't answer, instead rearranges the blanket on top of them and scoots closer.

Trott is so near- so near- but so far. How easy would it be to drape an arm around him, pull him in close?

How easy would it be to put their whole friendship on the line?

Smith's heart feels fit to burst. Here- now- cocooned in a blanket with his best friend as close as he'll probably ever get, Smith closes his eyes. This is probably the most he'll ever get. He takes a deep breath. It's enough.


End file.
